


Let's All Fall In

by sunspot (unavoidedcrisis)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Slice of Life, Swimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-17 13:11:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8145260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unavoidedcrisis/pseuds/sunspot
Summary: Even notorious hard-ass Lieutenant Krem Aclassi lets his troops stop for a midday swim once in a while. And it helps if they have Dalish's finely honed eyelash fluttering skills. Everyone seems to have lofty ideas about fashion and clothes. Rocky is magnificently annoyed. Skinner is introspective.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [serenityfails](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenityfails/gifts).



"Remind me again," Dalish says, smashing one of the stinking creatures in the face with the butt end of her non-specific-but-definitely-not-magical-weapon. "Why the Chief thought this would be the easy end of the assignment?"

"At least it's only dogs," Skinner says, stabbing the last living one as carefully as she can.

"Wargs," Krem says with a sigh, as though it's the fifteenth time that day he's had to say it (it is).

"Why does this fuckin' shem need so many pelts?" Skinner pulls the dead warg in front of Dalish over and shoves it towards the others. "Rocky! More to skin, you're behind."

"Maybe if you'd help!" Rocky points at her with the end of his bloody knife. "It's your damn name, woman. I can't be the only one who knows how to skin a cat -- yes, I know they're wargs," he adds, before Krem has an apoplectic fit.

"Oh, well, who knows," Dalish says with a laugh. "Something to do with how the nobility always have to impress each other with some shit or other. I think this one wants to make a dress from pelts?"

"Warg pelts? Ugly. Smelly. Fucking fashion. Fucking shems." Skinner plops down next to Rocky in the dirt and pulls one of the heavy creatures towards her.

"Yes, please. And that's 'The Game,' isn't it? Silly, really." Dalish is standing back, watching Skinner work on the dead beast, knife flying and barely a drop of blood, a definite contrast to the mess Rocky was making.

"Are you two going to help?" Rocky asks. "Or just stare?"

"Stare," Dalish says with the most lascivious eyebrow wiggle she can manage. Wargs with or without their fur are fucking gross, but she loves to watch her girlfriend work.

"Fuckin' hell." Rocky ducks his head, obvious in his disgust, and stops talking.

"Looks like it's going to be a great day for the trip back," Krem says, unsheathing his own knife. "Let's get a move on."

* * *

"It _is_ a lovely day. Such a lovely day," Dalish says, repeating Krem's words from early back at him while she bats her eyelashes.

It only takes a few more seconds before Krem cracks under the combined pressure of fluttering lashes and the sunshine baking them all where they stood.

"Alright, stop here for half an hour. But I want to hit Treadway by nightfall. It's my ass if Chief thinks we're fucking around."

"Yes, Lieutenant!" Dalish says, already unhooking her belt and leaning her bow on a rock by the water's edge. She watches as Skinner strips down fastest of all, flicking her underclothes at Rocky before she splashes into the pond.

Craning her neck to get a better look, Dalish toes off her boots and stacks them next to the rock.

"Does she ever wash these things?" Rocky asks, dumping Skinner's underclothes unceremoniously away from him.

"No," Dalish tells him. "She says it's unhygienic to have soap near your nethers."

"Mad as a dead stoat, and twice as vile," Rocky grumbles, wading into the water with his pants hiked up.

Even Krem, under all his armour, manages to make it into the pond before Dalish.

"You're not folding your tunic, are you?" Skinner calls over the splashing.

Dalish smiles to herself, knowing the familiar refrain of an old argument. "Yes, and my socks, and my underthings, dearest."

"Get in here, we're going to hand you your asses in a chicken fight," Krem calls out.

"You know she does that before sex, too," Skinner grumbles. "Stop folding!"

"Coming," Dalish sings out, satisfied that her things are in order. The water is cool and lovely in the heat of the day, and despite everyone else trampling around like drunken toddlers, it's a refreshing swim.

Skinner watches her in the water, gliding back and forth between the rocks on the left and the plants jutting up from the swampy area on the right, sighing when she comes up for air and smiling all the while. Skinner thinks she's beautiful, and not just because the only competition she has right now is Rocky, still in his leathers, and the Lieutenant's pimply ass.

Dalish pops up nearby, rising out of the water with a lily pad stuck to her head like a beautiful, confused nymph. She touches it questioningly, then breaks into a wide smile and adjusts it to sit straighter. "Come here, vhenan," she whispers. Not like the boys would have heard them anyway, arguing and splashing around like brutes.

Skinner lets Dalish lead her away, her teasing hands under the water's surface hard to ignore, and they wind up in the murky water around the reeds.

"It's slimy on the bottom," Skinner complains.

"Tread water," Dalish suggests. "Look at these."

"You brought me over to the slime to show me a lily pad?"

Dalish tugs her gently by the hand, over towards said vegetation.

"Ahh," Skinner says, seeing now what Dalish was so excited about. "The flower and the little frog. These are the frogs you told me about?"

"Peepers," says Dalish. "It's too hot now, but in the spring, they make the cutest little noises. I wanted you to see."

"I'm glad you showed me," Skinner says. "Now get out of the slime."

* * *

They make it to Treadway a bit past dusk and pitch their tents just past the tavern. Dinner is plain and simple and the barkeeper agrees to keep the ale flowing if they promise to behave, so all in all, they're happy.

When the crowd gets rowdier, they take their leave.

"I do like bar fights," Skinner says, almost sadly.

Dalish nudges her in the shoulder to make her leave. "I've got something better," she whispers.

"Goodnight Krem, Rocky," Dalish calls, saluting them with a lazy grin as she follows Skinner into their tent. She barely gets the flap closed behind them when Skinner is on her, tugging at the various layers and pressing kisses to any skin she can find -- fingertips, mostly, and the skin on the inside of her wrist.

"Settle down now," Dalish murmurs, giving Skinner a gentle nudge so she can kneel down on the bedrolls too. It takes a few minutes to get sorted out, all mixed up together in the dark, but they manage it with all the familiarity of two people who have lived on top of each other for years.

"I know you said 'better', but I'm tired," Skinner says, pulling Dalish closer and draping an arm over her.

"Trust me, dear. You'll get to my age and you'll learn, sleep _is_ better than tavern brawls." Dalish twines their fingers together, raising them up to drop a kiss on the back of Skinner's hand.

"You're only five years older."

"Five years older and and fifty years wiser," Dalish says, one of her favourite things to repeat when she's teasing.

Skinner pulls her hand free and skims her fingers up Dalish's side under the blanket, propping her head up on the other elbow. Dalish pushes back into her, aiming for more contact and being generously rewarded when Skinner angles their hips together and nuzzles her face into Dalish's damp hair. It smells like pond water.

"Adaya?" Skinner whispers her name half like a question and half as a sigh of relief that they're finally alone.

"Vhenan?"

"Are you sleeping?"

"Mhmm… Nearly."

"Ah," Skinner says, pressing a kiss to the tip of Dalish's ear and coming back with a mouthful of pale hair, as usual. "Sleep then. Talk later."

Skinner doesn't even have time to settle down in their pile of blankets before the faint whistle of breath between chipped front teeth tell her that Dalish is out cold. Always able to sleep at a moment's notice, like most everyone else on the crew.

Some nights, after a hard day or a long fight, she wishes she could drop off into sleep like the others, but some nights it's worth it to lie in the stillness and take her time being thankful at how her life's turned out, after all the shit.

Tonight, Skinner lies awake, thinking of the stars she'd see and all the little frogs she'd miss out on if she was somewhere else.

**Author's Note:**

> A treat for serenityfails because I like your username. Serenity frequently fails me, so I feel you.
> 
> A hundred lovely thank yous to buhne for beta-ing.
> 
> A single, soggy thank you to my partner for falling into the swamp and coming up with plants stuck on his head. Just classic.
> 
> 1000 headcanons fell out of me the moment I started writing, it was magical. Ask me about the 10,000 words I want to write about their 'real' names. I dare you.


End file.
